Tall And Slim
Gabriel, Gabe, wonders what it must be like to be tall and slim, possessed of a lean physique, to be sculpted, wiry and sinewy, to have veins that visibly pulse, ripple and writhe as he moves and flexes, to buy a pair of long trousers and just “put ‘em on and wear ‘em,” without first having to have the surplus material that gathers in folds around his ankles cut away, so that the legs can be altered, shortened, taken up.
Gabe is short and overweight but not obese. He carries enough weight so that his shirts, when he tucks them into the waistband of his trousers, immediately set about unevenly and untidily un-tucking themselves. His shirts are therefore worn un-tucked, able to wantonly lift, shift, billow and crumple to their hearts content, free from the restrictive confines of that longed for but unattainable elegant tucked-in look that the tall and slim so effortlessly achieve.
He does not harbour any anger towards the tall and slim, knowing that they are not responsible for either his or their physiques. He has however become fixated with the tall and slim, obsessed with the notion of being tall and slim, even if it’s only for a day or an hour. He wants to feel what it’s like to be tall and slim. When he sees someone who is tall and slim, when he buys a pair of long trousers, when he makes a fist and nothing happens under the skin of his clenched fist or along the length of his arm, no matter how tightly he clenches his fist, his overriding reaction is one of frustration. Why does his gene pool, his ancestral DNA, not contain what is needed for him to be one of the tall and slim, to produce a long line of grand-parents, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews who are tall and slim.
Fortunately his fixation does not yet deprive him of sleep, affect his eating habits or impact on his ability to function at work. He begrudgingly accepts that being tall is not something that he can do anything about. The slim part is however something he could get a handle on, if he put his mind to it. But, being short and slim is not what he wants; much like a plate of bacon and eggs, without the bacon, is not what one wants.
Gabe is not married, does not have a partner and lives alone. He doesn’t mind living alone; he enjoys having his own space and is comfortable in his own company. He interacts quite effectively with his work colleagues, and is a long-standing member of a philatelic society, within which he has formed a strong friendship with three of its members, two men and a woman. Their friendship is of a purely philatelic nature. They only meet at the society’s twice-monthly meetings, where everything philatelic is discussed, where swops are made amid cut-throat bartering and bargaining, and where the discovery or acquisition of a rare, valuable or special stamp is deliberated over with enthusiasm and reverence. All four in his little group within the group are comfortable with the way that their friendship has evolved, and respect the boundaries that somehow, unspoken, have been unanimously set.
He was back at home one evening after an enjoyable and very fruitful meeting of the philatelic society. He had successfully bartered for a stamp that, although not rare or very valuable, he had wanted for a very long time. He’d swopped it for two of his stamps which, although themselves not rare or very valuable, had held a special place in his collection. Adding this newly acquired stamp to his collection and seeing it there, now part of his collection, he deemed the loss of his two stamps to have been well worth it.
Sitting at his desk, tweezers and loupe safely back in their custom-made little boxes, feeling jolly good about himself and the world in general, a memory, out of nowhere, popped into his head. He was a young boy, about nine or ten, he was at the fun-fair and had just entered the “Hall of Mirrors.” On entering he was confronted by a reflection of himself with a giant head and a tiny body, which was hilarious. Having bobbed about in front of the mirror, laughing like mad at the antics of his giant head and tiny body, he turned to his right and immediately became utterly spellbound. Standing before him was another reflection of himself, this one though was tall and slim, standing ramrod straight.
Gabe had always been a stocky, blocky little kid, not really fat but carrying enough weight for the teasers who inhabit our schools to call him “Fatty” The only way for him to judge if the term “Fatty” was in any way justified, apart of course from asking his Mom or Dad, who would tell him that he was definitely not fat, just solidly built, was to stand in front of a mirror and have a critical look at himself, be painfully honest about what he saw reflected there and accept what was revealed to him. Having done just that more times than he cared to count, he could not, if being perfectly honest with himself, dismiss with a shrug of indifference his now well established moniker “Fatty”
Those moments in the “Hall of Mirrors,” like most things in a young boy’s life, although deeply felt at the time, soon lost their heft and impact, becoming lost amid the myriad things vying for his attention. He had completely forgotten about that tall and slim refection of himself, standing ramrod straight, seen so long ago in the “Hall of Mirrors.”
That was however where and when his issue with being tall and slim began. It did not manifest itself in any conceivable way, at least to him, until he was into his twenties. It was then, when he had been working for a few years and was well into the routine of the daily commute and the eight to five working day, that he started to really notice other people, the way that they dressed, the clothes that they wore and the way that their clothes fitted them.
Still seated at his desk he cast his mind back to that tall and slim reflection of himself seen so many years ago. Although forgotten over these many years it came back to him clear and crisp, solid and real. Carrying that image with him he went into his bedroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Something inside him stirred, something unflinching, something cold and diamond hard.
Well into the night, seated at his computer, he researched mirrors that distort images and searched for companies that manufacture them. It was a surprisingly well documented topic. He was able to find a manufacturer who, according to their blurb, would supply and deliver a distorting mirror, or, as they advertised them a “Fun Fair Mirror”. Feeling upbeat and eager he couldn’t wait for the morning. He was going to contact the company and order a Fun Fair Mirror. He shut his computer down and went to bed. He slept like a baby.
In the morning Gabe ordered his Fun Fair Mirror which arrived three days later. Not being much of a handyman he paid someone to mount his newly acquired mirror in the little alcove at the end of the passage, where it took pride of place. He would spend many hours staring at the tall and slim reflection of himself standing ramrod straight in the little alcove at the end of the passage. Sometimes, when he was having a restless night, he would get up, turn on the bathroom light, which would, when the bathroom door was open, leach just enough light into the passage, and, standing in the softly lit passage, stare with longing into his Fun Fair mirror.
A few months after the mirror was delivered, not knowing anything about the mirror, his work colleagues and his friends and acquaintances at the philatelic society noticed a change in Gabe. They could not put their finger on it, but he was different somehow. There was an air about him that had not been there before.
Six months after the mirror was delivered he had not been to work for three days and had missed a philatelic society meeting, which he had never done before. No-one had heard from him and when he failed to answer his phone the police were notified. They went to his flat and when his door remained unanswered after repeated knocking, the building manager was summoned and the door opened.
Gabe’s body was found in the little alcove at the end of the passage, severely cut, lying amongst the shards of a shattered mirror. It was later ascertained that he had been rendered unconscious at the same time that he had been so severely cut. He was therefore unable to call out for help or do anything to stem the bleeding. He had, quite simply, bled out in the little alcove at the end of the passage lying amidst the shattered remains of a rather large mirror. Cause of death was recorded as severe blood loss after being rendered unconscious by a blow to the head.
There was no evidence of forced entry, no evidence of a struggle and nothing appeared to be disturbed or missing, and, the door was securely locked from the inside and all the windows were still closed. The only conclusion that made any sense, given the evidence to hand, implausible and improbable as it was, is that he had run full tilt down the passage straight into the mirror.
One of police officers was heard to comment, “I dunno man, it’s really weird, but it looks to me as if he was trying to get into the mirror.”
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